Stairs
by tensassistant
Summary: Crossover between Supernatural and Veronica Mars. Angst and an alternate reality might foul up this college romance. It's possible their story will be epic.


**Disclaimer:** Veronica Mars, Supernatural or their characters do not belong to me. No infringement intended.

**Chapter 1**

The sun spilled in golden slivers through the blinds, across her skin. He rested on an elbow watching the slivers slide along the curve of her hip and across her back as the sun slowly rose. Lying there on her stomach, asleep, she was almost perfect, he thought. Almost.

Impatient for her eyes to open, for her to look at him, he brushed a tender line of kisses along the gentle curve of her shoulder, the side of her breast. She breathed out a quiet purr and peeked from beneath her lashes with a smile. "Morning," she said dreamily.

His fingers caressed the small of her back until she turned, pressing against him, kissing him.

The sudden sharp trill of an alarm dissolved their moment into laughter. She shoved him from the bed into a pile of blankets then wrapped herself in the satiny white robe she kept on the bedpost.

"Time to hit the road, Jack. But you better come back some more," she said musically, kissing him goodbye at the door.

"You know something? I think I love you, Ms. Mars," he said and kissed her forehead. Then he was gone, tossing a smile over his shoulder and tugging on his t-shirt on the way to the elevator.

She didn't answer. She wasn't supposed to. That was the game. Neither one of them said, "I love you itoo/i." It was so pedestrian. It dredged up past regrets and reminded them of the walls they were trying to ignore. Besides they were definitely not the type for holding hands with gooey eyes, saying all that wuvvy-duvvy nonsense to each other. All that was between them was explicitly professed each time they fell into each other and lost themselves.

She didn't answer but she thought about it. She thought about it, then she thought about Logan as she left her room and hurried down the dorm hall, late for class.

Logan.

Therein lay the rub.

He was driving, daydreaming about her beneath his fingers when his cell rang. The shrill ring sliced directly into his run through of the night before. Whispers and kisses. Skin like satin in the dark. Slick and hot.

The caller ID said iV. Mars/i and he grinned. "Missed me already." It was a statement. He knew he was that good. "I'm not even half way √"

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Her voice sounded far away and the line crackled with interference.

"Where are you, the basement?" he asked amusedly. His mind wandered away from the road in front of him toward something dark and perhaps kinky. She was a tiger. Up for anything. He smiled to himself.

"I don't think so," she replied, her voice sounding even further away, if that was possible. "I don't really know where I am. I need help."

"Veronica, if you wanted me to stay you could have just said √"

She sighed longsufferingly. "It's not a game, you perv. I don't know where I √"

The line went silent with a click. He half-shouted into the phone, "Veronica? Veronica? Dammit!" He slammed his hand on the steering wheel and spun the car into a hard u-turn back toward her dorm, flooring the accelerator.

She sat huddled on the stairs, cell phone clutched in both hands. The lights had gone out at the same time as the cell had died and she wasn't sure he'd realized how urgent her situation was.

Her pulse was racing and, at this point, she didn't know if it was from her futile dash up and down the stairs to find the door or from the fact that she was pretty sure now that there was no door. Not anymore.

Inwardly she swore at herself for her impatience. She was late and the elevator was making its sluggish way down before making an even slower ascent to the third floor to pick her up. The door to the stairs had looked inviting so she'd caught it from some jerk who had knocked into her on his way out and charged down the stairs. If only she'd waited for the elevator...

"How was I supposed to know I was walking straight into the stairway to hell?" she grumbled.

She caught herself beginning to hum iHighway to Hell/i, something Dean had put on the radio in the car one day. Trying to expand her musical horizons he insisted. She was usually game for that but AC/DC just was not her thing. She would stick with music from her own generation, thank you. You couldn't dance to AC/DC. The memory of their pretend began to calm her and she smiled, then froze. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Something was sliding slickly along the stairs. In the dark she couldn't tell if it was above or below her. It didn't matter. She didn't want to be there when it got there. But she had nowhere to go.

Taking several deep breaths to slow her furiously beating heart and calm her trembling hands, she pressed a button on the phone. A very pale blue light illuminated her face in the pitch black of the stairway. No signal. Of course.

And suddenly whatever was on the stairs with her was moving faster. Snorting and wheezing through the darkness. It was above her. She grasped the railing. Fled. Two steps at a time she went down, down, impossibly down.

Then with a sudden flashing blindness, the lights blazed to life. Startled, she gripped the railing, wrenching her shoulder fiercely as she tried to stop her forward motion before she fell down who knew how many stairs. Tears streamed down her cheeks in the silence as she sank onto the edge of the step beneath her. She swallowed a sob of pain and rubbed her shoulder gingerly.

Whatever had been after her was gone now. And whatever that thing was, it was toying with her. Forcing her downward. She straightened and pushed her shoulders back, wincing slightly. No one was going to have their fun at her expense. She was getting herself out of here. If that thing wanted her to go down, she was going to go up and hope the lights didn't go off until she was far enough up. This stairway had to have a beginning. She would find it.

The phone rang.

He called her non-stop, his thumb on the speed dial, but all he got was the infuriatingly nasal voice of the irritatingly pleasant operator telling him Veronica was out of the service area. Would he please try again?

He slung the Impala into a parking space and didn't feed the meter. The meter maid could kiss his ass. Though it occurred to him that this might be a bit of overkill. Maybe he should slow down. Not seem too overreact-y. She might be fine. Then again, with his track record, she probably wasn't.

Slamming through the double front doors of the dorm, he ignored the front desk security guard who shouted for Dean's identification. Something like dread was filling his stomach with each failed call to her phone. He'd be damned if she was in trouble because of his past. He'd already been to hell and death. Life would be worse than iboth/i without her.

He passed the elevator at a full run and crashed through the door to the stairs. Her room was on the third floor and he made it in record time, the security guard shouting after him but not following. Once on the third floor hall, he dodged towel-clad girls without noticing and hopped over a group playing poker. There it was. Room 302.

Only slightly winded, working more on adrenaline than anything at this point, he pounded on the door with his fist. The operator was finishing her 25supth/sup recitation of "Please hang up and try again," which fueled another sharp pound on the door.

"Veronica, open up!" he hollered, ignoring the startled looks of those around him in the hall.

There was no sound on the other side of the door. He snapped his phone shut and pressed an ear to the door. "Veronica!"

"Hey, man. I'm going to call 911 on your ass," someone said behind him. He ignored the threat and pounded again.

He swung his arm back a fourth time to pound on the door but it was caught by a firm grip in mid-swing. He whirled around, seething. "Dude, not now."

"Like totally now, idude/i." The voice was a feigned surfer drawl and dripped with mockery as the guy let go of Dean's arm.

"She's in trouble," Dean growled. "Whoever you are, it's igoing/i to wait."

The sardonic expression on the other guy's face faltered then held. He was as tall as Dean and just as muscled. He turned to the shorter, stocky blonde kid with the phone behind him and laughed acidly. "Hang up, Dick. This isn't an emergency. Yet."

"Listen, she is in trouble. You're wasting time," Dean snarled.

Turning back to him, the taller of the two appraised Dean. Beneath the layer of sarcasm, his expression was venomous. "Ah you must be the new beau. Let me clue you in," he leaned closer to Dean and spoke in a conspiratorially low tone, "Veronica has this astounding way of getting out of trouble all on her onesy."

Dean stepped back and flashed a charmingly insincere smile, "You must be the ex. Hey, nice to meet you, man. Let's get lattes and chat sometime. Just the two of us. Yeah." His smile faded and he turned away from the two, dialing Veronica again and pressing the phone to his ear.

The call went through.

"I can hardly hear you. Logan's with you?" she asked, pressing one finger into her other ear even though the noise was on his side, not hers.

His voice crackled on the other end of the line and she could only hear every second or third word.

"Putting... speaker... tell... where... are?"

"I'm on the stairs. There're no doors. No landings. No hallways. Nothing. Stairway to hell. Literally. Oh and there's something going bump in the night when the lights go out."

"I... can't... Walk... stairs... reception?"

"You want me to walk up the stairs?"

"-es!"

Already on her way up the steps, she picked up her pace. Her shoulder was throbbing and she was having a hard time breathing as though she was climbing a mountain above normal air pressure. She ignored the discomfort and all but ran up the stairs.

On the other end of the phone she heard Logan's voice. "Not funny Dick. Get the hell out of here."

"Logan? Dean? Can you guys hear me any better?"

"We hear you, Veronica. Where are you?" Dean asked. His tone was layered with frantic agitation.

"I'm on the istairs/i. The stairs in my dorm. Except there are no doors and no landings. There's also something in here with me. It appears out of nowhere whenever the lights go out. Sounds big and squishy. Are there any angry marshmallow demons?" She tried to laugh but it rang out flat and she winced as it jarred her shoulder.

Bolstering herself with quippy banter wasn't quite working to calm her fraying nerves just yet. She stopped climbing to sit and switch the phone to her other hand, resting her shoulder.

Logan's voice. Louder. "We're ion/i the stairs, darling. Marathon Man here is on his second lap. I call bullshit."

She sighed in frustration. "As fun as faking my own abduction would be, this isn't a joke, Logan."

"Boy, you're always in it for the spotlight, aren't you, Miss Mars?" Logan shot back.

"Give me that. Veronica, is there another staircase in this dorm?" Dean asked breathlessly.

"I'm sure. There's just the one."

"Ok, hold on."

"No, wait, it's getting-" The phone disconnected. "-dark." She looked upward. The overhead halogen lights were snapping off one by one in succession above her.

"Hurry," she whispered.

Dean jammed his finger against the phone, dialing Sam. Without waiting for his brother's groggy greeting he barked, "Get up, bitch. On your computer and GPS Veronica's phone."

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam grumbled and Dean could picture his brother with eyes half open sitting up in bed, looking around confusedly.

This college thing had been Sam's idea. After Dean's trip to hell and back, Sam had said they needed more technical knowledge. Dean knew "classes for a semester or two" was Sam's way of keeping them on a low profile. Didn't seem as though "low" would be the word to describe their profile for very much longer.

"Your brilliant idea sucks. Veronica got pulled into a iLocation/i. GPS her. Call me back."

He flipped the phone closed and turned to face Logan whose expression was a lot more scorn than humor now. "Location? Where is Veronica?"

Dean pointed at the doorway to the stairs. "Somewhere in there. I think. We're not sure how Locations work yet." His tone was almost nonchalant now. He was sure Sam would find Veronica on the GPS and they could get to her quickly and painlessly.

"Location?" Logan repeated.

"It's a long story," Dean replied with minor irritation. This guy must be dense to be standing around asking questions.

Logan folded his arms across his chest. "Cliff's Notes version then."

Dean sighed. "Ok. May 4, 1961, Room 10 of the Sunshine Motel outside Gallup, New Mexico disappears. Gone. Everything in it, including this guy Eddie McCleister are erased from history. The room is now a Location. Everything in it, including Eddie, are now Objects. Normal things that have special properties. Powers, if you will." He took a breath, noting Logan becoming testy, rocking on the balls of his feet with an skeptical expression.

"Certain Objects open Locations. They thought Room 10 was the only Location but it turns out there are at least 9 others. That we know of. The Objects from each Location are spread across the globe. Finding them is difficult at best because there are cabals - cults - that hoard them. We need to find out if someone with an Object opened a Location and let Veronica in. If we don't get the Object back, we don't get Veronica back. That help?"

Logan still looked unconvinced. "After Piz, I really thought Veronica was going to stop dating the short bus rejects. You should really write stories for the Sci-Fi channel. Where is Veronica, ireally/i?"

Losing his desire to help Logan understand along with his patience, Dean ignored the question and flipped through his cell phone contacts for Bela Talbot. "She'll be fine. We'll find her," he muttered distractedly.

The careless tone didn't work for Logan who grabbed the collar of Dean's jacket and shoved him hard against the door. "Where is she?"

Dean shoved back against Logan and the two toppled to the floor. The people who hadn't already been watching the two curiously, turned and someone shouted, "Fight! Fight!"

With all of the noise, the scream in the stairway was clear as crystal. Both fighters froze. Then, as if nothing had happened, both helped each other to their feet and raced into the stairwell.

"What did you get her into?" Logan demanded as they sprinted down the stairs.

"So not the time, dude," Dean growled as his phone rang. "Veronica?"

"It's me," Sam said and Dean stopped running, allowing Logan to pass him. "There's no signal on her. She's not on the map anywhere, Dean."

"Her phone is out of the service area?" Dean asked as Logan trotted back up the steps to listen.

Sam took an audible breath, "No. Even if she turned it off, the GPS is still active. She's in a Location, isn't she, Dean."

"Pretty sure she is, Sammy. Call Bela and find out if she knows anything about Objects for a staircase Location. If she gives you the run around, tell her I'll find her and I iwill/i kill her when this is over."

Dean disconnected and tried Veronica's phone. The operator chirped her cheery request to try again later. He closed the phone and rubbed his forehead. It was then he noticed Logan held a shiny red-painted ax in his hand.

"Whoa, really, this wasn't my fault," Dean backed up a few steps.

Logan gave him a withering look. "Get the other one on the next landing up, Twinkle Toes. We're knocking down the wall."

Dean raised his eyebrows incredulously. "I don't think so. She's not in the wall, dude." He tried her cell again. This time there wasn't even an operator response. Just white static.

This wasn't happening, he thought to himself. Sam would find an Object to get in and they'd find her. She would be ok. Logan glared at Dean in the silence of the stairway. Blame fully visible in his eyes. Along with fear. Fear and pain. Dean recognized them as easily as he recognized they must be reflected on his own face.

Veronica completed the family. She was the cog between him and Sam. The lover and older sister, respectively, that they both needed. She'd been a vibrant, snarky addition from the minute she'd impetuously accused Dean of being a car thief. There had been a rash of retro cars stolen on campus and Veronica "Sherlock Holmes" Mars was on the case. They had butted heads at first but once his name had been cleared she had warmed up. Well, truth be told, she'd warmed up a little sooner than that.

Now he couldn't do without her. He knew though, from the late night conversations in the dark, where no pretense lasted and honesty was forthcoming because eyes didn't need to be met, Logan couldn't do without her either. She had told him about the way it always was with her and Logan and it wasn't hard for him to imagine what the guy was feeling now.

Veronica was family to both of them. And neither of them had much family.

Logan's phone chimed and Dean looked up sharply from where he'd all but defeatedly slumped to wait for Sam's return call. His eyes begged the question, was it Veronica? Logan shook his head and listened. Dean watched as Logan's face fell and his jaw muscles clenched with emotion.

"What?" Dean asked, standing.

Logan handed the phone over and pressed a button. "Voicemail. Listen."

He held the phone to his ear. Silence at first and then a soft whispering. "It's almost here. I don't know if you'll get this." Quiet whimpering as though she was trying to cover her mouth and keep from screaming. Her breath was raspy and harsh in the phone. "Logan? I'll tell Lilly you sent your love." A gulped sob and maybe she was running. There was a very loud scraping, like the metal railing being wrenched from the wall. "Tell Wallace... Tell him... Dad...tell... Dean... and you ... I love...Tell Dean..." A scream. Silence.

Dean handed the phone back to Logan with a wan expression on his face. It hung between them like a noxious fog. Not that she was gone. Because to Dean she wasn't. He was going to find her. She wasn't gone to Logan because he knew her. She could find her way out of any situation.

No, what hung between them were her last words. Neither spoke as they walked slowly down the stairs to the ground floor. Neither voiced the question, the wonder that both of them had. And neither voiced defeat.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot, Dean vowed inwardly. Even if her last thought was to say she loved someone else. He would find her.

He flipped open the phone and dialed. "Sam. Let's hear about Objects."


End file.
